10th Annual Hunger Games: A Klaine AU fic
by transmuting
Summary: Kurt, the male tribute from District 8, teams up with Blaine, the male tribute from District 7. A bond forms that neither is sure they'll be able to break when the time comes. AU Klaine taking place in Panem. M for violence later on.
1. The Reaping

It was a rather beautiful day. The sun was shining brightly, it was warmer than usual for the time of year in District Eight. As he watched the clouds slowly pass by over the clear blue sky, Kurt Hummel couldn't help but smile softly, glad that he had the day off. It wasn't for a pleasant reason, of course; a holiday of sort, but the only people who could really call it one were those in the Career Districts. It seemed both ironic and strangely mocking of the world to make Reaping Day so outstandingly gorgeous.

Just reminding himself of the events that would be happening in the main square made his stomach tie in knots. He'd been one of the many to enter his name in for extra drawings. While it may have only been he and his father for years, the food rations were still too small to fully sustain either of them. He'd been ordered against it, of course; his father didn't want to add any more risk to his name being picked than was already there. At seventeen years of age, he was rebellious, though - and more importantly, worried for his father's health which had not been particularly _good_ lately. So he had ignored the threads of eternal grounding, never seeing his friends or participating in any singing sessions ever again, and done what he knew was the right thing.

Closing his eyes, he let the sun heat his skin, feeling the small beads of sweat forming on the back of his neck just from lying still. He liked the heat. It might not have liked him or his pale skin very much, but it kept him grounded. He knew he had to get up soon, go and find his father so they could go to the square together. He wanted to keep those moments at bay just a little longer, wanted to keep himself lost in happier times. He could almost see his mother's smile shining in front of him, hear her laughter in his ears, the smell of her perfume overtaking his senses. He reached out a hand in front of him, going to touch a strand of her long hair, shining golden in the bright sun.

But he was jolted from the thought as his hand reached nothing, falling into his lap instead and pulling him back to the need to get up. The need to go find his dad. The need to go to the Reaping.

Sighing, he pulled himself up out of the grass, brushing it off of his clothing. He stared back from the field towards the more crowded sections of District Eight. He was barely on the edges of the district and he knew he could get in trouble if he wandered to much farther off. Grabbing his satchel from the ground, he trudged slowly back towards the buildings, his stomach growling for the lunch that he'd skipped to guarantee he could get some fresh air.

The center of the district was already starting to crowd with people as Kurt made his way through the door to his small home. He placed his bag to the side, smiling some as he saw his father putting away the last of the freshly cleaned dishes into the cupboard. He dug into the satchel, pulling out some flowers (or more like somewhat pretty weeds) that he'd plucked while he was out in the field.

"Hey, Dad. I got these for the table. I thought it'd be nice to add some color to the house." He grabbed a cup, filling it with water and placed it in the center. He smiled proudly, thoroughly convinced that it improved the room ten fold.

Burt didn't look quite as impressed. He snorted softly. "The table cloth you made had plenty of color," he muttered, thought a small smile still tugged at the corner of his lips. Kurt's constant need to brighten the house was something he had grown used to, even come to cherish. It had been hard at first, reminding him too much of his late wife, but it had helped almost helped to heal the pain faster in some way.

"It'll look nice with the feast tonight." Kurt shrugged, flattening out a non-existent wrinkled in the table cloth. Despite the light conversation, he could feel the tension radiating off of his father. He was scared; and rightly so. If Kurt's name was drawn in the square today, it could very well be the last time he ever stood in District Eight at all. He wasn't strong or fast, he didn't know how to work a weapon - he wouldn't even survive a day in the arena.

"We should probably get going," Burt grumbled, wiping his hands on his pants and sighing. "Don't want to piss of the Peacekeepers by being those late stragglers." Putting an arm around his son, he guided them both out of the house, locking the door rather unnecessarily behind them. They didn't have anything worth stealing. Scraps of fabric from the factory that had been put together to make a few decorative clothes, maybe, but Kurt was sure no one would want to go out of their way to snatch up his creations.

With his stomach still growling, Kurt made his way to the section in front of the stage where those who could be drawn were supposed to be gathered. He watched as the area filled with other children from the district, children he'd grown up with and cared for in school. He smiled softly at a girl his age who had shared his love of music; Rachel Berry was... well, nice enough, he supposed. She was a little bossy and came from one of the wealthier families in District Eight. Still, they'd bonded by sharing lyrics and tunes with one another during lunch or breaks at the factory, and because of that, he considered her a friend of sorts. She had considered him at least enough of one to smile back when she caught his eye.

He could barely focus on the speaker - they'd chosen some man, Will Schuester, whose abundance of curls was more distracting than even Kurt's desire for the dinner - as they began in the usual speeches that accompanied the Hunger Games. The discussion of the Dark Days, the Capitol's constant reminder of District 13 and the reasons for the Games all together. The sign of what happened when you tried to rebel against the highest power in Panem. He tried to stifle the yawn behind his sleeve, wishing that they could hurry up and draw a name so that he could get back home and start to help his father cook for their feast. Not that it was much of one, but it was at least more food than they were normally allowed on any other given day.

It was then that he heard the words. "May the odds be ever in your favor." The phrase so often mocked by the youth of the districts. They were drawing the girls first - he heard Rachel's name echo through the square and he could feel his heart drop into his stomach. He'd never had a friend be drawn before. He didn't know if he could handle watching her go through the Games on the small television back at their home. He was sure it would make him sick if he were to die in front of him. He swallowed roughly, watching as she took her place on the stage, hands shaking. They waited, but no one volunteered. She was stuck in the position of female tribute.

He watched as Mr. Schuester's hand disappeared into the bowl again, his fingers immediately crossing, though he knew it would do nothing to help his odds. He'd either be picked or he wouldn't. Still, his eyes were shut tight, and he was muttering small pleas to be safe under his breath. His stomach was tied in knots, he could feel sweat gathering in his hands that wasn't just because of the overwhelming heat from the weather and the number of people gathered around him. He was fully willing to admit he was terrified.

Will stared at the slip in front of him, holding out farther so he could see the letters more clearly. When he spoke, his voice rang loud and clear through the audio system;

"Kurt Hummel."

Kurt finally knew what it meant to have one's blood run cold.


	2. The Tributes

He wasn't sure how he got here. Sitting on a bed on a train heading towards the Capitol as he stared at his hands. After the reaping, things had sort of gone by in a blur. He vaguely remembered walking up on stage, the forced applause for the new tributes, the way Rachel had gripped his hand when he'd felt like he was going to fall over. He remembered being escorted away. He remembered sitting in a room, staring at the wall, until his father had arrived.

His father. He'd been so upset. So angry. He tried to stay calm for Kurt, he'd tried so hard, but he could see it in his eyes. He could feel his throat tightening as he thought of it, as the last conversation he was sure he'd ever have with him ran through his head. His head fell into his hands, his fingers lacing through his hair and gripping it in tufts as he tried to control his breathing.

"_I've only got a few minutes with you, but Kurt - Kurt, look at me. Would you look at me? It's going to be okay, Kurt. You're a survivor. You can do this. You're going to come back to me, I know you will."_

"_You think I can kill twenty-four other teenagers? Dad, I've barely ever even killed a spider."_

"_Your great-grandfather was a champion. If he can do it, so can you."_

"_I've never even picked up a weapon, how -"_

"_Kurt. I need you to survive. I can't lose you, too. Do you hear me?"_

He could still feel his father's arms wrapped so protectively around him, holding him close, making him feel safe for only a moment. He was able to believe it would be okay, that he'd win, that he could make him proud. But that confidence was torn away the moment they'd been forced apart. His heart had dropped back into his stomach and all he had as a reminder of the conversation was the object from home that his dad had shoved into his fist before he left; a necklace that had belonged to his mother. A reminder of what they both had lost. Of why his father couldn't stand to lose him as well.

There was a knocking on his door that made him jump from his thoughts. Letting his hands fall, he stared without moving to get up, trying to decide if he even wanted to deal with people at that moment.

"Dinner's going to be ready soon, Kurt," Will's voice said kindly through the door. He was surprised by how gentle he sounded, given how he had just read off two likely death sentences to an entire district. "You should get ready. You looked like you could use a good meal."

He snorted, not feeling the desire to eat in the slightest. He supposed it would be good to keep his strength up, though. "I'll be out soon. I'm just... going to change."

Once he was sure Will was gone, he pulled himself from the bed, going to the closet that held clothes he could only have dreamed of owning back home. He let his hands slide over the soft fabric, smiling some for the first time in what felt like ages, but was really only hours. He pulled off his old and somewhat tattered clothes, enjoying the rather elaborate fashion offered to him at the hands of the Capitol. Maybe he was angry and bitter towards them for what they'd done to him, but he was trying to let those go. Might as well try and spend his last few days alive enjoying the luxuries handed to him.

He ran his hands over the silk shirt as he stared at himself in the mirror. The blue was so dark it was almost black, but every time the light caught it, the color shone through. The dark trousers seemed to fit like a glove. He knew there were jackets in the closet, but he was sure he'd faint if he started to feel any hotter. The train felt like it was on fire, but he was sure it was just his nerves and suppressed emotions attempting to fight to the surface.

Kurt placed his hand over his heart, where the small music note pendant of the necklace ended. He stared at his reflection; he could almost see his mother smiling proudly back at him. He may have been scared out of his mind, but at least he was holding himself together. It was better than he'd expected.

Swallowing roughly, he left the room and headed towards the dining cart.

Rachel was already sitting quietly in her seat, staring at a plate full of untouched food. Her hair was down and freshly brushed, hanging over her shoulders. He could see the bit of red fabric from a nice dress she must have gotten from her closet peaking out just above the table before it was blocked from site. He couldn't help but think the bright color looked nice with her skin tones; he wondered only briefly why she didn't wear bright colors like it more often, until he reminded himself that she probably didn't own any. Working making Peacekeeper uniforms didn't often leave room to steal colorful tones the way it did when you worked for the other fabric companies.

She looked up only when Kurt was sliding into the seat across from her. They exchanged weak smiles before he began to put food onto his own plate. The dishes in front of him were filled with such a variety of delicious smelling concoctions, it was hard to not shovel it all into his mouth straight from the serving spoon. His stomach growled loudly as the smells hit him.

Rachel seemed to be waiting politely. Mr. Schuester still hadn't joined them and he was pretty sure that their mentor was supposed to arrive as well. Noah Puckerman, more commonly referred to as "Puck", had won the tournament when he was only fourteen and had been the last one to come from their district. He wasn't known for being punctual or enjoying schedules so it wasn't a surprise to Kurt that he had yet to arrive. Still, he assumed it would be good to wait for Will, and so he, too, let his fork fall, not starting to eat, despite how desperately he wanted to.

It was Rachel who broke the silence between them first.

"I'm glad, you know," she said finally. "I mean, not that we're both going to be thrown into a life or death situation. But that... if we have to, that we have someone we know with us. Someone familiar. It makes it a little easier, don't you think?" She tried to smile brightly at him, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. Nothing could get rid of the fear and sadness they were both feeling.

"Unless we end up having to kill one another," he said simply, coldly even, shrugging and going to look at his full plate. "That won't be easy at all, I don't think."

She faltered at that, her lips pursing momentarily as she gave a sigh. "Well, we've got a while until we have to worry about it. And it's more likely one of the Career Tributes is going to take us out before we have to worry about it. At least in my case. Maybe you're stronger than you look."

"Not really," he muttered, going to pick up his fork and push some food around his plate. He needed something to distract him. He decided to give up on waiting and began to eat. He was only a few bites in when Will came in, dragging a rather disgruntled looking Puck with him, and sat him down in the seat beside Kurt. He gave the older man a glare, before going to shovel food onto his plate without a word.

That was until he realized both Rachel and Kurt were staring at him, not speaking themselves. "_What?_"

They quickly went back to their food with muttered apologies and slight blushes. Will sighed as he took a seat at the head of the table, placing his napkin carefully onto his lap. Kurt watched him out of the corner of his eye and couldn't help but notice that he was... _different_ than the other Capitol folk he'd seen. He was pretty sure that his skin was the same color that he'd been born with, his hair was unusually curly and the tips were blonder than they should have been, but outside of that, seemed unaltered. There was no makeup tattooed on his body and Kurt was pretty sure he could even see crows feet at the corner of his eyes.

He'd let himself age naturally. It was strange, but a comforting thing for him. It made him trust the man more, respect him slightly; he seemed just like the rest of them. Only better fed.

On rather delicious food, it seemed. Kurt could hardly keep himself from moaning in pleasure at the taste of some kind of chicken in a creamy, almost buttery tomato sauce. It was filled with delicious spices he had never tasted before but wished he had never lived without. A lamb stew was nearly just as good and he was sure that the hot drinks that he was given were the most delicious things he'd ever tasted. He thought of trying the wine, but decided not to as he watched Rachel take a sip. The way her nose wrinkled and her mouth pinched made him decide it probably wasn't worth it.

"So you guys seen the tributes recap yet?" Puck said through a bite of steak, not bothering to swallow it or cover his mouth. Kurt rolled his eyes at the lack of manners. He was sure he had been raised better.

"Not yet," Rachel said softly, biting at her lip. "We were told we should wait until after dinner was done. The recap will be running all night, I'm sure. We won't miss who our new competitors are."

Puck chuckled, shaking his head some. "Gotta lot of tough people to go up against. There's a girl from second that I'm pretty sure could snap you both in half just by looking at you." He seemed to find this thoroughly amusing as he was still chortling to himself as he took another bite of meat.

"I'm so glad our imminent demise brings you such amusement, Mr. Puckerman," Kurt said... well, curtly. Leaving the last few bites, he pushed his plate away. "If you'll excuse me, I've lost the remainder of my appetite. I think I'll go watch that recap after all."

"Sit down, Kurt," Will said gently. "I want to go over some of basic schedules you're going to be expected to stick to when we reach the Capitol. You'll be on a rather strict set of them and since we'll be arriving there a lot quicker than you expect, we need to be prepared. Your advantages in the arena are going to start from the moment the public sees you." He went to snatch a glass of wine from Puck's hands, placing it down on the table firmly. "_All_ of you need to pay attention."

Pulling out a schedule, he went to hand copies around the table. Kurt sighed softly, leaning back in his chair, and biting his tongue. This was going to be a very long evening.

hr /

Once Mr. Schuester had been sure they had thoroughly gone through every detail of the next few days, Puck had not only gotten through two helpings of meals but just as much dessert with time to spare. It seemed like an eternity before they were told they could go watch the recap of the reaping in the other districts, following quietly after them to see who their competition would be.

The girl from District Two stuck out in Kurt's mind the longest. She was a dark haired girl named Santana who looked exactly as Puck had described her; fierce and strong, certainly ready and trained to kill. He barely noticed the others as they flipped passed, though there was a sweet looking blonde girl from third whose name he'd forgotten, a dark haired boy named Mike from fourth, and a strong looking boy from fifth that made his blood run cold.

His forehead wrinkled when he saw the male tribute from Seven was displayed. He had curly, dark hair that hung softly at his forehead. His arms were strong, his jaw set. But what struck Kurt most was the warmth in his eyes. Despite the situation, there was kindness and optimism there. A gentleness that made his stomach tie in knots and his face flush. Blaine Anderson was possibly one of the most handsome men he'd seen in a long time, if not in all his years, and Kurt couldn't believe that he was going to be thrown into an arena and forced to fight to the death with him.

Just as quickly as he'd come on the screen, it felt, he was gone again, and Kurt felt his stomach twist with a desire to see his face just for one more moment. The TV was shut off once the recap was finished and he frowned gently, closing his eyes for a moment as he tried to recall the details of his face. It left him with that same warmth, the pleasant knots; he shivered softly.

"Are you cold, Kurt? I've got a blanket here, if you want it." Rachel went to try and hand it over to him, pulling him from his daydreams, and he looked over to her in confusion. Finally understanding, he shook his head, shoving the blanket back towards her.

"I'm fine. Just... Nerves. I think I'm going to go to bed, try and get some rest before we're dragged through a day of interview training." He pulled himself from the couch, ignoring the odd looks given by the others in the room. "I'll see you all in the morning. Sleep well."

He stripped quickly from his clothes once he reached the safety of his room, pulling on a pair of pajamas he found in the closet, and crawling into bed. Lying there, staring at the ceiling, he thought of the days that were yet to come. He thought about the girl, Santana, and how intimidating she felt on the screen. He imagined it would be doubled face to face. He thought of the blonde girl who'd looked so confused by everything that was happening around her. He thought of Puck in the arena, how deadly he had been, how quick on his feet - how willing he'd seemed to kill. He wondered if he'd been like that before and no one had known. Or maybe the Games had changed him.

Kurt wondered if they'd change him as well.

But as sleep started to get closer, the violence slowly disappeared. His hand went to touch the necklace around his neck, his eyes closing, darkness getting closer. Before it could overtake him, he could see soft, dark curls and a pair of warm brown eyes staring back at him.

This Blaine boy was a rather nice image to fall asleep to.


End file.
